And He Walks With Me
by Kristen Elizabeth
Summary: AU- Two years before the Salem Witch Trials, faith is questioned, friendships are threatened and love is tested. Are any of them strong enough to survive?
1. Our Father, who art in Heaven

Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me and I'm pretty sure they don't belong to Loyce unless she's hiding them in her bathroom whenever I come over to visit.  
  
Loyce: Crap!! She's onto us boys!! Head for the laundry room next time!!!  
  
Krieli: No one hides Heero from me and gets away with it!!!  
  
Heero: Eep.  
  
Author's Notes: Loyce and I realized the other day while sitting around, watching TV and fussing over Ali (her three month old angel/demon), that we've known each other for a year and a half now and written countless stories on our own in that time, as well as collaborating with other people, but we've never written a story together. With our shared love of AU's, GW boys and dresses with full skirts, we put our heads together (ouch) and came up with this brand new AU for your very much reading pleasure.  
  
As it stands, we're alternating chapters; the next chapter will be Loyce's baby, but we're smushing our grey matter together for the basic plot overall and putting it up on my ff.net page, although if you want to see her other fabulous stories, her ff.net pen name is Loyce. Go to her page. We've been researching our little bottoms off on this time period and it's finally ready to be debuted. So, without further ado, here is the first installment of "And He Walks with Me." We both hope you enjoy it very much!! And if you have problems...er...direct them towards her. Kidding, kidding, of course I'm kidding. Wuv you, Missa. :::big grin:::  
  
****  
  
And He Walks with Me  
by Kristen Elizabeth and Loyce  
  
****  
  
She almost felt sorry for them. The good ones. The pure ones. Too pure to be true. Like newly fallen snow on virgin soil in the light of a naughty full moon. They were the Chosen Ones, chosen not by any god, but by themselves. Holier than everyone.  
  
They had no idea what was to come.  
  
But they would deserve it. For all the things they had done to her, for the way she had been cast out of sight and out of mind...she would make them all pay. All she needed was time. Time...and Him. No, not the brimstone god they all subjected themselves for, but the real Master. The Lord of earthly pleasure and underworld decadence.  
  
The one to whom she prayed. Her arms rose above her head, her sharp fingernails reaching for Him.  
  
"Come my Lord and Master. Fill me with your essence and let me take my revenge."  
  
****  
  
Sanq Village, Massachusetts   
October 1690  
  
Flour. Eggs. Water. Aniseeds. Relena Peacecraft wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, unknowingly leaving a streak of white powder behind on her pale flesh. The way of making biscuit bread never changed; her ancestors in England had done it every day of their lives in the exact same manner. The women in the village were all in their homes at that very moment rolling dough and tending the hearth in preparation for baking, as well. It was a chore and like any chore in a Puritan household, it was to be performed with diligence and skill and without complaint. Still, Relena couldn't help it.   
  
She was bored.  
  
"Idle hands are the Devil's tool," she repeated with near-instinctual promptness. Allowing herself one little sigh, Relena began kneading the pliant ball of raw ingredients. She should be grateful. The flour was not coarse, the eggs had been lain that very morning and the water was clean. There were so many who could not say as much about their food in this new world.  
  
Outside the open window that allowed fresh, cool air into the overheated lean-to behind the main house, Relena could see her favorite tree. It was thus because it was far enough from the house so that in her youth, she had been able to climb it without fear of being seen from the road. Now that she was grown and could no longer scale the wide branches, the tree was still her favorite because it was there, underneath the full blossom of the past spring, that Heero Yuy had kissed her for the first time.  
  
Her body might have been preparing the day's bread for the hearth, but her mind was back in that moment, still feeling the chaste press of his lips against hers. There had been kisses since, longer, deeper, but the innocence of their first was too perfect to ever forget. She smiled as she rolled the dough into smaller balls. It was Wednesday; she would get to see him at the Meeting House later. It was wicked and sinful, but lately her mind was never on her brother's sermon when she knew Heero was only three benches back, watching her.  
  
When the dough was ready, she used a long, wooden paddle to slide the iron baking sheet in place over the flames. She gave the burning logs a poke before straightening up. With the bread baking, it was time to begin the pottage that would accompany it as the family's evening meal after the Meeting. She had just begun to ladle water into her pot when the lean-to door slammed open.  
  
Although she was a good three inches shorter than Relena's modest five foot six, Hilde Schbeiker somehow managed to fill the door's entire frame with her bright-eyed energy. Her dress, while far from finely made, fit her trim curves perfectly, almost to the point of indecency. The drab grey color would have washed out anyone else, but on Hilde, it only brought out the stormy hue in her blue eyes and perfectly complimented her coal-black curls. She carried a woven basket full of newly picked vegetables from the garden.  
  
"Miss Relena." She approached the other girl and set down her load. Relena breathed in the rich scent of freshly turned earth and sky air. "Miss Relena...I saw him!"  
  
Not needing to ask to whom she was referring, Relena started the important task of washing the vegetables with the well-water Hilde had drawn earlier. "Was he alone?"  
  
"Nay. Master Heero and he walked together."  
  
Relena slipped and dropped a carrot onto the hard-packed dirt floor. "Did he...did they look well?"  
  
"When do either of them not, Miss Relena?" Hilde sighed happily as she bent to pick it up. "They started for Goodman Ashcroft's fields; you know he is laid up this month with a broken arm."  
  
"It is most Christian of the doctor to allow his apprentice and his servant to forgo their own duties to help their neighbor," Relena commented. She paused with her hands deep in the washing bucket, holding on to two potatoes.  
  
When her master's sister said nothing for a long moment, Hilde delicately cleared her throat. "Perhaps we ought to take them a cool draught of water at midday," she suggested coyly.  
  
The thought of an unplanned meeting with Heero sent a delicious curl of pleasure up the length of Relena's spine. But she kept her smile self-effacing and nodded, "Aye. Perhaps we ought."  
  
"I shall wash these, Miss Relena," Hilde said, taking the potatoes from Relena. She was afraid that if she didn't set herself to some task, she might burst from the happiness of it all. "'Tis my duty."  
  
Relena wiped her hands on her apron to dry them. She didn't like it when Hilde reminded her of their separate stations within the house. She was sister to the master; Hilde worked for a few shillings a month to send to her family in Plymouth. It made her much happier when they could just be friends, working side by side. Still, it wasn't too hard to hand her chores over to Hilde, especially on a beautiful fall day. "Have you spoken to my sister today?"  
  
The girl shook her head as she scrubbed dirt away from the potato's brown skin. "She slept while I saw to the chamber pots."  
  
"The babe has kept her awake most nights. It shall be a most active child." She untied the wide, white apron, revealing the long, maroon skirt underneath. Strands of her golden hair had worked loose from her modest, linen coif cap in the bread-making process. She carefully brushed them back into place, indulging in an extra moment to wipe her flour-dusted face clean.  
  
"You're likely not to see him between here and the house," Hilde said in her merry way. Relena's cheeks burned pink; she immediately dropped her arms. "Oh...Miss Relena...I meant not to chastise you!"  
  
"'Tis alright, Hilde. I was being vain. If Millardo had seen me so occupied when there are chores to be done..." She tried to smile, to reassure her servant friend. "Take care not to let the bread burn; I shall be back to help soon."  
  
On her way out the door, Relena plucked her woolen shawl from the hook set into the log wall. October in the colonies could be a harsh month, though the splendor of the leaves as they changed colors more than made up for it. She stepped out of the lean-to, instantly grateful for the shawl's warmth. A cold wind swept through Sanq Village, chilling her all the way down to her leather shoes. She thought of Heero out in this weather, working a field that wasn't even his own.  
  
Without realizing what she was doing, Relena spun around in a circle, her skirts billowing around her legs. How could merely thinking about him make her so warm inside? She hugged herself and tilted her head back to smile at the clouds.  
  
"Relena."  
  
Her eyes flew open. Just as quickly as sunshine had spread through her, the cold bite of his voice slapped her back into reality. She lowered her chin and came face to face with the town's minister, her older brother, Millardo Peacecraft.  
  
He was a dark thunderstorm in black breeches and a fitted doublet, edged with the proverbial silver lining by his white-blond hair and even whiter collar. His eyes, the same liquid blue as her own, bore into her with unmistakable disappointment.  
  
"Brother." Relena clasped her hands in front of her. "Good morrow."  
  
"Good morrow, sister."  
  
She smiled as demurely as she could. "I was just now coming to the house to..."  
  
"I saw what was occupying your time." His voice rumbled.  
  
"Surely it can't be sinful to enjoy the earth God has given us." Relena looked down at the ground. "Can it?"  
  
Millardo sighed as though the weight of the world was on his broad shoulders. In truth, the burden he bore was heavy; the religious sanctity of the entire village was his responsibility. But in the deepest places of her heart where no one else could see, Relena suspected that rather than be hampered by his load, her brother took pride in it. Pride…against which no one preached louder than he himself.  
  
As she usually did when she had these aberrant thoughts, Relena bit down on her tongue, a tiny penitence so that next time she would remember herself. Her brother provided her with a home now that their parents had died. She owed him everything.  
  
"'Twould not be a sin, Relena, if you enjoyed the earth for God's sake and not for your own. God means us to take pleasure in the world He has given us so that we might better know His wonder and might. Not so that we might draw attention to ourselves."  
  
"I stopped only for a moment to…"  
  
"A moment is a moment too long." Millardo took a step towards her. "Do you think I see not who makes your heart sing these past months?"  
  
Relena lifted her dark fringe of lashes to look at him. "I shall not forget myself again, but also I shall not lie before God and say that you are mistaken."  
  
He shook his head violently. "You know my mind on this. I do not like him."  
  
"Heero is a good man," Relena protested. "Hard-working. Devout. Even now he helps a neighbor when others would tend only to their own work. You cannot deny that."  
  
"There are many good men in this village, Relena. They, much better than he, can give you a home and a family of your own." There was a pause. "Still, I cannot forbid the courtship," he continued, almost to himself. "I shall wait until his bloom fades from your eyes. Until then, Sister, I remind you of this. Give your heart to whomever you choose; 'tis no concern of mine. But your body belongs to God and your future husband. Do you understand?"  
  
Her cheeks burned, not with embarrassment, but with anger. "I have done nothing to shame your house, Brother."  
  
"See that it remains so." Millardo reached out to touch her shoulder in order that he might soften his words, but he might as well have been raising his fist to her. She flinched as his hand approached. He let it drop and took a step back. "Go...tend to Lucy. She felt not well this morn." Relena walked past him without comment. "Good morrow," he repeated, this time in closing rather than greeting.  
  
Once she was completely out of hearing range, he cursed softly to himself. Somehow, no matter how good his intentions were, he always managed to alienate his little sister. Being so far apart in age, it seemed little wonder that they had difficulties finding common ground. But couldn't she see that he only wanted what was best for her? A pious husband, a brood of children to mother, a place in God's Kingdom when she passed on...everything a woman should want from the world.  
  
As he continued on the main road through town, Millardo passed by Goodman Ashcroft's fields. Alongside his guardian's indentured servant, Duo Maxwell, the man his sister had chosen for herself was hard at work harvesting the corn that would help sustain the village through the coming winter months. Both young men had stripped down to their breeches and loose shirts as they pulled husked ears of corn from the plants which were taller even than they.  
  
He moved on a moment later. Heero Yuy was little more than an apprentice to Dr. J; his only status came from this. The doctor's family was rumored to have arrived with the very first English colonists to ever set foot in the New World. There was no way to prove it, but it was at least a well-known fact that his family had lived in these parts for so long that no one could actually remember what their real surname was. To everyone, they were the J's. And the doctor was the last one living.  
  
An apprentice to the village doctor, put out by his own family for this training when he was only eight years old, was not the man Millardo saw as a good husband for his only sister.  
  
A voice broke through his thoughts. "Good morrow, Brother Peacecraft."  
  
Treize Kushrenada approached him from across the main square at the heart of their little town. He wore the same breeches, shirt and waistcoat as any other man, but it was his magistrate's robes that set him above the commoner…even above Millardo himself. In the eyes of God, a village's minister might lead His people, but in the colonies, the magistrate ruled, usually with an iron fist.  
  
"Good morrow, friend," Millardo repeated. There was worry written on the other man's face and a haste to his step that was not usual. "Is something the matter?"  
  
Treize glanced around as though someone might be listening to their conversation. The square was empty, save for a servant who had been left in the stocks overnight on a charge of fornication with a local widow, if Millardo remembered correctly. His partner had been banished. It had been Treize's punishments to dole out; Millardo was only involved in justice at a much higher level.  
  
"Late last night, Goody Howell's cat gave birth to a litter of kittens." He lowered his voice even more. "One of the creatures….was born with two heads."  
  
Millardo blinked. "'Tis not possible."  
  
"'Tis not Godly," Treize corrected him. "The poor woman was near apoplexy; she fled to my house in panic with the thing wrapped in her apron."  
  
"It lives?"  
  
Treize gave him a look. "Nay, Brother. I destroyed it immediately. There shall be no mark of Satan in my village."  
  
Millardo was so preoccupied that he barely acknowledged the man's possession of what, which by all Heavenly accounts, was his. "The wrong has been righted, then."  
  
"Aye. Dr. J ordered bedrest and a tea for Goody Howell. 'Twas all I could do to keep her from destroying the rest of the litter."  
  
"Dr. J knows?"  
  
"He merely thinks she was inflicted with some women's disease."  
  
Millardo rubbed his temple. "'Tis best that we never speak of this again. There is no sense in stirring similar panic." He licked his lips; the whole affair was unsettling…more so even because the woman had not run to him, but to Treize. His power was slipping away day by day. "I shall pray, and at Meeting tonight, lead the village in a sermon on thwarting the Devil's tricks."  
  
Treize nodded his approval. "You do nothing but what is best for us, Brother. I sleep easier with the knowledge that my family answers to God through you and not another." He tipped his magistrate's cap. "Good morrow."  
  
He left Millardo on the steps of the Meeting House with the bitter taste of his veiled sarcasm heavy in his mouth.  
  
****  
  
"I've decided something, mate." With green ears of corn in each of his gloved hands, Duo Maxwell used his bare forearm to wipe sweat off his brow. "I bloody well hate corn."  
  
Heero Yuy glanced over at his servant and sometimes-friend. His colorful language did not shock as Heero suspected he intended it to; having lived on the streets until he was ten, Duo had picked up none of the formality of proper speech. And even now, as he lived and worked to pay off his debts to English society in the New World, he showed no signs of changing his ways.  
  
The story of their tentative friendship was a strange one. Their paths in the world might never have crossed had Duo not stolen a loaf of bread and a bottle of French wine from a shop in the heart of London, been caught, and sold into indentured servitude for a period of no less than ten years. It had been his former master who sailed for the colonies, taking Duo with him. When the old man died, Dr. J had picked up Duo's contract and brought him to Sanq Village to live out the remaining five years of his sentence.  
  
It was there that they had met, two fifteen year old boys without a friend between them. Duo knew not who had brought him into the world, and Heero's parents cared so much about their son that they had sent him clear across the colony as soon as he was breeched to learn the trade of medicine.  
  
At first, they had done nothing but fight, with their fists whenever possible. Dr. J never knew; Heero was certain he would have thought it beneath a Freeman to fight with English street scum. After they had eachwounded each other to the point of scars, their friendship was born and now they often worked side by side, although the villagers never allowed them to forget which one belonged and which one didn't.  
  
But it never seemed to bother Duo. He had two years left on his contract and already he knew exactly what he was going to do the day he received his hard-earned freedom. He was going to marry Hilde Schbeiker.  
  
"If you worked more than you talked, we could be through at midday," Heero reminded him, throwing a husked ear into a basket. There would be a corn-husking before the month ended, a rare chance in the strict village to have a celebration.  
  
"It's not midday yet?!" Duo squinted up at the sun. "Hurry, you!" he ordered it as it inched its way across the sky.  
  
Heero snorted softly. "'Tis a good thing the Heavens answer not to you, Maxwell. We would all go to Hell in a handbasket."  
  
"Oh, you said 'Hell,' Master Yuy." The way he said the title fairly dripped with mockery. "Clearly you're going to see it, now."  
  
Duo's disdain for Puritanism was not a secret, but because he was little better than an Indian in the eyes of the Church, no one particularly cared as long as he stood in the back of the Meeting House on Wednesdays and Sundays and broke none of the village laws. Truth be told, Heero had his own doubts about the wrathful God Millardo Peacecraft warned his parishioners to fear, but he had been brought up to never question anything a minister said.  
  
"I shall see you there then," Heero replied flippantly.  
  
His friend laughed as he scratched the back of his head, working his fingers into his thick braid of hair. Because Duo didn't belong, the grooming rules that governed the other men of the village never applied to him. Not that he would have cut his hair even if they had; he'd have rather spent a week in the stocks than touch a single lock with a knife. "Ah, you'd never be happy in Hell with us sinners, Master Yuy. The minister's lovely sister surely wouldn't be there. And what fun would that be for you?"  
  
Heero's fist grew tight, but it was nothing compared to the tightness in the rest of his body whenever Relena was even casually mentioned within his hearing. The problem was, as soon as he started thinking about her, he couldn't get her out of his mind. And he'd be ruined for the rest of the day, unable to concentrate on his chores, his training, his prayers. She was that deep into his heart. He looked down at an ear of corn he had just ripped from one stalk; the silk inside always reminded him of her hair, although it could never come close to shining like hers. She always shone...the one bright spot in a village, no, a world of greys and browns.  
  
Duo knew just what buttons to press, Heero had to admit. The braided man just kept picking corn, a jaunty, unashamed smile on his face. He had secrets of his own that Heero faithfully kept, but he could never resist a little jab. Because he knew, as only a friend could, that Heero would take those secrets to the grave no matter what.  
  
There was only one way to handle this situation. Dropping the corn in his hands, Heero advanced for the first punch.  
  
****  
  
Hilde found them thirty minutes later, each one covered from handsome head to toe in fresh dirt and what would be even fresher bruises. They were out of breath, sweaty, smelly and happy. She shook her head and set down the water bucket and dipper she had dragged all the way from the Peacecraft house.  
  
"Are you not a bit old to be rolling in the dirt like children just out of nappies?" she asked, setting her hands on her cinched waist.  
  
Duo crawled to his feet, his smile huge and just a tad bit bloody. "He started it, love."  
  
Warmth crept into her stomach. It was impossible to even pretend to be vexed with him, especially when he called her that. His love. Yes, she was that. She had fallen hard for his strangely compelling violet eyes from the day she had first seen him in the back of the Meeting House almost two years past. Since then, she took too much pleasure in looking at his sinful physique with its long, lean lines and muscles that even his coarsely woven clothes couldn't hide.  
  
Her cheeks burned; she didn't have to imagine what he might look like underneath his breeches and shirt anymore. Even if they were never allowed to be together like that again, she would never forget. She would also never forget that the opportunity had been created and secreted by the man who now stood up next to Duo, raking dirt and grass out of his chocolate mop of hair.  
  
Hilde had to hand it to her friend, Relena. Excepting Duo, of course, she had certainly picked the best the village had to offer in terms of young, unmarried men.  
  
"Should I let the pair of you continue or would you care for a draught of water?" She gestured to the bucket.  
  
Duo's eyes lit up and he grabbed the dipper. After drinking his fill, he wiped his now muddy lips clean. "You're a god-send, Hilde Schbeiker, that you are."  
  
"'Twas not entirely my own idea." Her gaze slipped over to Heero as he drank with much more finesse than his friend. "Miss Relena gave me leave, as well as drawing the water herself."  
  
It pleased her to see Heero choke on the rim of the wooden dipper. He coughed before asking, "Did she not accompany you?"  
  
"She tends to her sister at the house," Hilde replied. "Rest assured that were it possible, she would have come herself."  
  
Heero shot a look at Duo who wriggled both of his eyebrows all too suggestively. He scowled. "'Tis no matter," he said, unable to convince anyone, even himself. "I shall see her at Meeting." He added this underhis breath as he got back to work on the nearest corn stalk he could reach.  
  
Duo shook his head. "He's grateful for the water, love, truly. As am I."  
  
"'Twas the least I could do." She clasped her hands in front of her. "When I caught glimpse of you heading to the field..." Her words trailed off.  
  
"I saw you, too," Duo said in a low, heavy voice. "Picking vegetables...on your hands and knees." He reached for one small, pale hand. "You made it very hard..." He smiled lasciviously. "...to think about picking corn, that is."  
  
She had blushed before; now her cheeks were positively painted red. "Duo Maxwell," she hissed, all too aware of Heero's presence. "You're like to find yourself burning for those sort of thoughts."  
  
"I already know I'm going to burn, love." He raised her fingers up and sucked one sweet digit into his mouth for a brief second. "Ought to have some fun while I can, yes?"  
  
Hilde wasn't sure she had knees anymore, although she must have because she was still standing. Barely, though. He'd melted her into a pool of wanton woman under the absent light of a new moon in a small clearing he and Heero had found in the woods. Now he seemed determined to do it again in broad daylight in the middle of a cornfield. With Heero trying very hard not to look on.  
  
She pulled her hand back. "You're dangerous," she whispered. "You make me wish...for things I can't have."  
  
His eyes clouded over. He might not have believed in anything, but Hilde was a Christian woman. She had given him the greatest gift anyone ever had: her trust, her love, and her virginity. And what had he given her in return? Nothing. As an indentured servant, it was forbidden for him to get married. It was his fault that she had to break the laws of God and man to be with him in the way they both wanted so badly.  
  
"Two years left," he promised. "I swear...I'll marry you the day I get to tear up that damnable contract." When he saw tears in her eyes, he pressed her hand to his chest. "I love you."  
  
He was so warm through his dirt-streaked shirt; she could feel his heart beating, strong and fast. Without thinking, she pushed him back into the rows of corn plants until they were well-hidden. Hilde tugged on his collar, drawing his mouth down to meet hers. The kiss smoldered, like the fires of Hell she was sure loving him like this was going to send her to someday.  
  
"I shall wait for you," she breathed against his cheek. "Two years or twenty." She kissed him one last time. "I love you, too." He reached out for her, silently pleading with her to stay. But Hilde disappeared through the corn.  
  
When he had gathered his wits, and cooled down enough not to embarrass himself, Duo stepped back out into the open row where Heero still worked. Hilde was long gone, having taken her bucket with her. He cleared his throat and reached for the nearest ear he could find without really looking. Silence deafened him as they worked for several long minutes.  
  
Finally, it became too much for Duo. "I know what I'm doing, all right?! I'm not leading her astray...she loves me and that's the best thing I've got in my life right now."  
  
Heero tossed an armful into their basket. "Did I say a word?"  
  
"You wanted to."  
  
"'Tis your guilty conscience with which you must settle accounts, Maxwell. I have my own guilt to bear. 'Twas I who arranged the assignation for you."  
  
Duo yanked at an ear, ripping away half of its mother stalk with it in his anger. "It's your lot's bloody rules that keep me from being with her as true man and wife! Besides..." He threw the corn with enough force to break open its husk and picked up the basket to move down the row. "You know I'd do the same for you if you asked."  
  
Heero's eyes crashed like waves in a stormy ocean. "Mind your thoughts where Relena is concerned. I'd rather Indians slit my throat than take her in the woods like a..."  
  
"Common servant?" Duo's laughter was laced with bitterness. "Heaven forbid." Before Heero could reply, Duo had shoved the heavy load into his arms and walked away, flipping his friend an irreverent finger when he called for him to come back.  
  
****  
  
"Satan is everywhere."  
  
Once he was sure that every single eye in the Meeting House was on him, Millardo continued. "He is the greatest of tricksters. He hides himself in the places where you would least expect him." He tapped a long finger against his temple and then his chest. "Your mind. Your heart. Your evil thoughts are his wine; the dark places in your heart, his bread. If you let him, he will feed on you until you are nothing..." He glanced at one young man in the front row, Trowa Barton. "...but his pawn." His eyes slipped to the boy's sister, Catherine. "His bride. I say this not to frighten you...but to warn you." He shook his head. "Only through your humility and everlasting devotion to God could you possibly survive against the great pretender."  
  
Relena shuddered slightly. Her brother was nothing if not intense. Next to her on the wooden bench, his wife, Lucrezia, shifted, searching for a comfortable position. Unfortunately, being six and a half months pregnant, nothing was comfortable for her. Relena glanced over at her. "Is there anything I can do for you, Sister?" she asked quietly.  
  
"Nay." Lucrezia smile was tight, but warm. "I need only to walk about a bit. But 'tis rather impossible at the moment."  
  
Up at the crudely carved podium, her husband continued his sermon. "I read to you now from the gospel of Matthew, chapter thirteen, verse nineteen." Millardo glanced down at his well-worn Bible. "When one hears the word of the Kingdom of Heaven and understands it not, the evil one comes..." He paused for effect. "He snatches away what God has sown in the heart." He closed up the book. "My brothers and sisters, heed the Son of God's warning. Look to your hearts, weed out whatever pieces Satan might use against you, and live in the light of God."  
  
Duo wanted desperately to snort out loud, but he merely leaned back against the log wall, folded his arms, closed his eyes and waited for the sermon to be done. In her own seat right behind the Peacecraft women, Hilde kept her eyes on her lap, certain that if she even dared look at her employer as he spoke, he might be able to see right through her and know her heart. Heero had stopped paying attention almost from the moment Millardo had started speaking. A golden coil of hair peeked out from Relena's coif cap and all he could think about was running his fingers through it. If that was evil, so be it.  
  
In the front row, Treize smiled to himself. Millardo Peacecraft knew how to work a crowd. The trouble was, he truly believed everything he was evangelizing. And for that, he was a fool twice over. On the surface, where it counted the most, Treize feared and loved God as much as any other Christian. But it wasn't God who controlled the world of men. It was men themselves who governed one another. Men like him. Men who mattered.  
  
He glanced down at his young daughter's modestly combed red hair, a parting gift from her mother who had died the day Mariemaia was born. He had not had much luck with women in his life. His first wife dead in childbirth, his second...well, what could he say about his second wife? Anne was as dead to the town as Mariemaia's mother.  
  
And unless anyone dared to venture into the attic of his spacious, stone home on the top of the hill, overlooking Sanq Village, no one would ever suspect otherwise. Chained up, the way a woman ought to be. For him and him alone.  
  
At the podium, Millardo bowed his head and led the people in a lengthy prayer. When he lifted his head again, he nodded gravely. "Go in peace to love and serve the Lord."  
  
No sooner than the words were out of his mouth than a great flash blinded the entire House. White hot light burned through the glass panes on the windows for only a fraction of an instant. A wave of panic tore through the people as they rose out of their seats. Women gasped, children sobbed, frightened beyond all reason.  
  
Millardo put his hands up. "'Tis only lightning," he called out.  
  
But no one was paying attention. Treize rose to his feet and started out the side door to investigate, using his iron key to unlock it. Meetings were mandatory; no one was to leave in the middle of one. A stream of villagers followed after him once the doors were opened.  
  
Heero was at Relena's side as soon as possible. "Are you well?" he asked her and her brother's wife. Lucrezia nodded, but put a hand to her round belly.  
  
"'Twas lightning, Heero," Relena said, suddenly tipsy on the clean, soap smell of him. "Millardo said so."  
  
He frowned. "There was nary a cloud in the sky when the Meeting began."  
  
A shrill scream pierced the air. Without hesitating, Heero bolted for the door. "Stay here," he called back to Relena. He could feel Duo behind him; the lightning surely hadn't stirred his formidable Cockney blood, but the painful scream certainly had. They emerged out of the Meeting House into the pre-dark of dusk. There was no rain. Heero tilted his head back; the stars were clearly visible.  
  
But in the middle of the square, around which most of the village was now gathered, a fire raged in the dead center of a burned circle of stone. The stocks, the man sitting in them...struck by a single bolt from out of nowhere.  
  
Heero wanted to look away, but he couldn't stop staring at the man's body as it burned. He could hear Duo choking at the smell of searing flesh, but all he did was back up slowly until he reached the Meeting House doors.  
  
A whisper of conversation caught his ear above the roar of the flames and cries of the people. He glanced to his right. In the weak light, he could just make out the stony figures of the minister and the magistrate. Licking his lips, he strained to hear what they were saying....and regretted it as soon as he could.  
  
"He's here," Millardo said, pulling at his collar. "In our village. I've failed...I've failed to stop him."  
  
Treize replied harshly, "We will find the person who has brought the Devil into our midst. And when we do..." He looked at the melting man he had put in the stocks. "May God have mercy on their souls."  
  
****  
  
It had begun. She smiled with much glee, her naked body luminescent in the star's light. Soft, fall leaves carpeted her feet as she danced, her hair flowing over her shoulders. She cupped her breasts in her hands, offering herself as thanks. He had come. He had come to make them all pay.  
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	2. Hallow'd be Thy name

Disclaimer: None of the characters herewithin belong to either Loyce or myself.   
  
Author's Notes: Chapter 2, finally!!! It's been a very busy time for both of us; the next chapter will be coming quicker because Kristen has no life;) Enjoy! And thank you for all the wonderful feedback on the first chapter. This is a challenging and fascinating time period to write GW in; as for Loyce and myself, our aim is not to offend anyone. We're both just kind of goobers who are like "Religion? Something to play around with! Fun!!" So, if you ever take offense, just know that ranting and raving will only make us raise our shoulders. Slightly.   
  
****  
  
And He Walks With Me  
by Kristen Elizabeth and Loyce  
  
****  
  
She would never be able to get the smell of the ocean out of her clothes. There wasn't enough rosewater in England to help her rid the putrid odor from her nose, nor enough rinses to repair the damage the salt and wind had done to her blond locks.  
  
Moving a hand through the rough, straw-like strands, Dorothy attempted to pull the knots out, but gave up after a few quick tugs. A few expletives completely unbefitting a lady escaped with a sigh as she focused on her new surroundings for the first time.  
  
She was in Hell.  
  
Seeing nothing but trees, Dorothy's gray eyes narrowed. Her father warned her not to disgrace the family name or she would be sorry. She should have listened to him. Now with the scandal hanging over them, she would never be able to show her face in England again. No more balls, banquets… Dorothy clenched her hands, letting the familiar sting of her fingernails bite into her palms.   
  
Poor Otto. He'd been stupid enough to fall for her sweet and innocent seduction routine when in reality it had all been a ploy to get back at that little bitch for stealing him from her in the first place, even if she had wanted the fortune more than the man. Society loved Sylvia Noventa, the angel with golden hair and a sweet disposition. They loved her even more when she became an instant idol to all the girls for having a love-matched marriage.   
  
Having been out on the marriage market for two years, and having been passed over by gentleman after gentleman was bound to turn a girl bitter; especially when the man she had been luring into her web was stolen away. So like any-well mannered English lady, Dorothy had decided to have her revenge.  
  
A few innocent touches lead to a few smoldering kisses, and before too long Otto had taken her as his mistress, footing the bill for a townhouse in London for them to have their midday rendezvous, along with a monthly stipend to keep her quiet about the whole affair. She didn't know what Sylvia had seen in him; it definitely wasn't his prowess between the sheets, for Otto was sorely lacking in that department. Still, stealing the affections of the man Sylvia loved, along with pithing away part of his fortune was a sweet retribution that more than made up for the lack of pleasure.  
  
Everything was going smoothly until the day Sylvia's father had Otto followed and discovered their affair. Literally caught with his pants around his ankles, Otto spilled his guts like a fish at the wharf, pinning total blame onto Dorothy. With a sly smile, she had gathered her clothes and simply walked out of the room, without a care in the world.   
  
But she'd forgotten one thing: how powerful the Noventa name really was in England. In a matter of days, she'd been shunned by every wealthy family in London, taken off of society's list and regarded like a leper. Her parents, feeling the second-hand shame, shipped her off to live in the colonies with her cousin.  
  
And now she was stuck here, in this God-forsaken country with its savages and lack of basic luxuries. Out of habit, she tried to smooth the wrinkles from her skirts, only to sigh in disgust at the course material under her fingers.   
  
Gray.  
  
Didn't these people believe in colors?   
  
"How much further to the village?"   
  
Turning around, Dorothy glared at the young man seated in the back of the cart. His blond hair glistened in the bright sunlight, and his pale blue eyes seemed to shine with a little more excitement with each passing mile.  
  
The man goaded the horses to pick up the pace. "'Tis only another mile or so."  
  
Mr. Winner. It was about time she finally found out his name. The man had infuriated her to no end. The whole awful time she'd spent on the ship, she had tried to win his favor. He was a man of power and wealth; she could see it in the way he carried himself, along with his expensive clothing. But to her endless fury, he consistently rebuked her with polite brush-offs.  
  
She'd given it her every effort, but finally had to label him a complete loss. Dorothy put on her best smile and tilted her head to the side. "What brings you to the colonies, Mr. Winner?"  
  
"Nothing in particular, my lady," he said, before sticking his nose back into the book he had been reading the whole trip.   
  
The blasted man had done it again, dismissed her with nary a word. Dorothy bit the inside of her cheek, the iron taste of blood touching her tongue. With grace practiced since her childhood, she turned around and feigned interest in the wretched wildlife around her.  
  
It felt like an eternity had passed from the time she'd stepped off the boat until the time the cart pulled into Sanq Village. Though upon first sight of her new home, Dorothy wished she had been lost at sea.  
  
The 'village,' if someone could even call it that, reminded her of the Cofter's village that surrounded her family's estate up in Kent. Everything from the crude structures that passed for buildings to the people clad in gray tones bustling about the 'street' screamed out one word to her. Poor.   
  
The cart jostled to a stop, nearly tossing Dorothy off the small bench. She watched as Mr. Winner and the driver hopped down and began heading off in different directions.  
  
"Excuse me! Where do you think you're going?" she called out to the driver. Placing her hands on her hips, she stomped her foot. "I demand that you take me to my cousin's home. He is Treize Kushrenada, er…" Dorothy corrected herself with a shudder, "Goodman Kushrenada." She motioned to the trunks in the back of the chart. "And do you expect me to carry my things, too?"   
  
Looking almost properly sheepish, the townsman began to take her things off the cart. It was that moment when Dorothy caught first sight of *him* rounding the corner of one of the buildings. Upon first impression, his hair reminded her of the color of chocolates that her father had once brought home after a trip to Spain, while his eyes…well, there were no words to describe the blue of his eyes. They seemed to have been formed from a painter's pallet.   
  
The somber tones of his clothing only seemed to accentuate the dark color of his skin, probably tanned by many hard days in the field. Dorothy shivered at the thought of what his callused hands might feel like running over her smooth skin. In a town that feared sin so much, she was surprised that she didn't burst in to flames on the spot. She watched him until he rounded another corner and disappeared. At least the dreadful little town looked to have one source of amusement.   
  
"Dorothy Catalonia?"  
  
Blinking, she turned her attention towards the source of the deep baritone voice. Her distant relative approached the cart; she recognized him only from family portraits. It was a good thing that their blood line ran so strong. They even had similar eyebrows. "Cousin, how are you this fine day?" she asked as sweetly as possible.  
  
Treize extended a hand and held fast to hers as she climbed down from her perch in the cart. "Very well, Cousin." Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, he started to lead her away from the center of town, with the driver following up, ladden with her valises and trunks. "And how fared thee on thy voyage?"  
  
Stopping herself short of snorting, Dorothy lied through her clenched teeth. "It faired well, but having my feet on dry land again pleases me."  
  
He laughed. "Tis a sin to tell an un-truth, Cousin. But come now, I shall give you a tour of my village."  
  
They moved through the dirt streets at a leisurely pace, and as dust and dirt accumulated on the hem of the ugly gray dress she was wearing, she was thankful that her new gowns hadn't been subjected to this type of torture. Though from the looks of the people in this town, those dresses would never see the light of day.   
  
Didn't these people do anything for fun?  
  
As if fate had been listening, they passed by the wooden Meeting House where preparations were under way for what looked like to be some sort of celebration. Her spirits lifted. "Cousin, are you preparing for a party?"  
  
"Nay, Cousin. Tonight, we celebrate the harvest with a feast. A corn-husking."  
  
Corn-husking? These people actually had a party because they pulled the leaves off of corn? Rolling her eyes heavenward, Dorothy prayed for some type of divine intervention to strike her dead right then and there. There was no way she would be able to survive in a town that didn't believe in colors or fun, but was totally based on the fear of sin. Half the old biddies they strolled past would die of shock if they knew the real reason behind her visit.  
  
They continued on their way through town, up a rolling hill, finally coming to a house that Dorothy could only hope was the one her cousin owned. It was bigger than most of the other cottages they had passed on their way and appeared to be made out of stone, not wood. Dorothy breathed a little sigh of relief when Treize lead her to the front door and pushed it open.  
  
Although the house had promised great things on the outside, the inside of the home mocked her. There were no stylish couches for lounging, no paintings on the walls, no silver or gold accents. Everything was made from wood and pewter, stiff and practical. A child of no more than ten summers sat in front of the fire, reading from a schoolchild's primer. She only looked away from the book when her father addressed her.  
  
"Mariemaia, put down thy lessons and meet your Cousin Dorothy."  
  
Bowing her head slightly, Treize's daughter spoke in a small voice. "Tis an honor to finally meet you."  
  
"I shall take my leave to let you get better acquainted." Treize disengaged Dorothy's hand from his arm. "I must go and ensure that the preparations for tonight's feast are in order." Tipping his brim of his hat, he turned and closed the door quietly behind him.  
  
Silence filled the space between Dorothy and the child. For a few seconds, they stood there, staring at each other, not sure what to say. She'd never been around children before, and had no idea what they wanted or needed, or even what their purpose was.   
  
Eventually, Dorothy broke eye contact and flopped down onto one of the wooden chairs, wincing in pain. "Is there not one comfortable chair in this place?" she complained, rubbing her sore hip.   
  
"Shall I fetch you a pillow? A draught of water?"   
  
The child looked back at her with huge eyes, eyes that seemed eager to please. Smiling slyly, Dorothy nodded and let Treize's daughter wait on her hand and foot. She even let her bring in her trunks when the arrived a few minutes after Treize's departure. Mariemaia's eyes danced as she asked question after question about life in England, though for the most part Dorothy ignored her constant chatter. Now she remembered why her parents avoided having another child.  
  
Finally, she interrupted. "Tell me about this corn husking..." Dorothy waved her hands in the air, trying to come up with an appropriate word, "...thing."  
  
Mariemaia sat down across from her and primly crossed her ankles. "Tis the one time each year that the entire village gathers together. Excepting, of course, Meetings."  
  
"The entire village?"   
  
"Aye. Every man, woman and child attends. 'Tis a wonderful night."  
  
Dorothy's eyes narrowed as a cat-like smile played at the corners of her mouth. The man she noticed earlier with the dark blue eyes would be there. Her mind raced as she tried to remember what gowns she had tossed into her trunks in her forced haste to pack. One in particular came to mind, a dress that was bound to grab his attention, along with that of the whole village. "Come child, help me unpack my things and I'll tell you more about England."  
  
****  
  
Nothing could dampen his spirits. There wasn't a cloud in the blue sky, and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, his feet were back on solid ground. Quatre Winner tilted his head back and basked in the warmth the sun provided on the chilly October day.   
  
He was home.   
  
Unlike many who feared the wilds of the colonies, Quatre had enjoyed the venture across the stormy ocean. He craved the purity of a land not yet tamed. It wasn't overrun by too many buildings in not enough space; it didn't have the overpowering stink of unwashed flesh and human excrement like London. The colonies were even more beautiful than his family's manor in York.   
  
And best of all, he was safe here, far away from cloying, desperate unmarried girls and their scheming mothers.   
  
Being on friendly terms with the new Protestant king, William III, the Winners wealth had only increased in the short year since James II's Catholic rule had officially ended ended. Add to this the fact that he was the only heir to the entire family fortune...he reached a point where he couldn't take it anymore, and that point was the day his father died. Leaving England to start a new life with his new inheritance had been the most appealing course of action. No more frivolous company, no more court functions, no more unscrupulous plots to force him into marriage. Just a normal, simple life.   
  
He sighed and kicked a pebble from the middle of the dirt path. If only he were normal to go along with it.  
  
Rounding the bend in the dirt path that was to lead to his newly bought land where a house, a field and that normal life were to be waiting for him, Quatre came across a small, but well-kept farm. The wood, on both the house and fence, showed little sign of weathering or repair. If you could say anything about the Puritans who were now his neighbors, it was that they were diligent in their work.  
  
As he came closer, he watched a young woman emerge from the tiny doorway, her arms loaded with a wooden basket full of unshucked ears of corn. Her shoulders slumped under the heavy weight of her burden. She groaned with each step and upon approached the gate, kicked it open with her petite foot and made her way over to a very tired-looking horse hooked to a cart.  
  
Unable to watch her struggle any further, he picked up his pace and rushed over to help her. "Allow me, miss." Instead of helping, his voice startled her, causing her to drop the basket. Corn spilled out over the hard-packed dirt. "I am dreadfully sorry. I did not mean to cause you further problems." Without having to worry what anyone would think, Quatre bent down in the dirt and helped the young woman gather the vegetables.   
  
He caught sight of her face then. It was nearly swallowed up by pale green eyes and full lips. Curls the color of highly polished mahogany escaped the white cap securely fastened on her head. Had she been in England, numerous gentleman would have asked for her hand in marriage; she was a rare beauty. It was a shame that she was unable to live in a society where it could be appreciated.   
  
"'Tis quite all right, sir." She dusted her hands off on her apron as she stood. She watched him easily lift the basket, placing it into the back of the cart. It seemed to him that she desperately wanted to ask him his name, but feared being too bold.  
  
"I am Quatre Winner," he introduced himself. "I've only just arrived from England; I'll be living up the road a bit." There was a pause. "And your name, my lady?"  
  
"Catherine, we ought to be leaving soon," a deep voice answered for her.  
  
Stunned, Quatre stared at the tall man to whom the voice belonged as he emerged from the little house. He pulled a hat onto his head, adjusting it until it sat correctly. A few stray strands hung over one of his eyes, which he quickly brushed to one side, revealing startling emerald eyes. His long legs ate up the distance from the door to the wagon, and he took a protective stance alongside the young woman.   
  
"Brother, meet Mr. Quatre Winner." Catherine gestured towards him. "Mr. Winner, my brother, Trowa Barton."   
  
"An honor to meet you." Quatre's own voice faltered somewhat as he extended his hand in an offer of friendship.  
  
Trowa nodded and grasped his outstretched hand, giving it a good solid shake before slowly pulling back. His endless eyes held Quatre's for a moment, and Quatre feared that he had displayed too much in his own gaze.   
  
"Come, Sister, or we shall be late." Turning, Trowa helped her up onto the cart's seat. He untied their horse, before climbing up as well and grasping the reigns. Each movement was performed with ease and an underlying grace that he likely had no idea he possessed. Better to keep it that way, Quatre decided. Unconscious beauty was the best kind.   
  
From her perch, Catherine looked down and gave him a genuine smile. "If you are to be our neighbor, sir, we shall see you quite often. I hope."  
  
Quatre replied to her, but looked at her brother. "That is my hope as well."  
  
With a quick flick of Trowa's wrists, the cart lurched forward and headed off in the direction of the village, leaving a trail of dust in its wake.  
  
****  
  
"Here, Miss Relena. I have brought another pan of cheate bread from Goody Townsend." Hilde resisted the urge to wipe the sweat from her brow as she passed the food to her friend.   
  
"Thank you, Hilde. Would thou be good enough to see if Goody Radcliffe requires assistance with preparing the table settings?" Relena's eyes were troubled as she gave out the order. It was hard, their friendship. Millardo Peacecraft was not about to let his sister fraternize with the help. So, out in public they had to pretend to be nothing more than mere acquaintances.  
  
Hilde took it in stride, and turned to her attention to helping the remaining women under Goody Radcliffe's command set the tables for the feast. Before the corn-husking would take place, they would sit together and give thanks to God for the plentiful harvest, as was the tradition that had been passed down for the few generation that had made their home in the New World.   
  
The cool air was filled with delicious scents. There were platters of roasted fowl, dripping with sauce and surrounded by boiled onions. Loaves of freshly baked bread, deep trenchers containing thick pottages of rabbit and deer. For the after-meal, a few of the townswomen had merged their resources and made a pile of prune tarts that looked monstrously tempting, as they were encrusted with imported sugar.   
  
Taking a clay pitcher in her hand, Hilde began pouring fresh cider into cups for the children. It made her heart ache, watching each little boy and girl collect their drinks, thanking her with sweet smiles and shy words. She had always wanted children. One day, after Duo was released from his servitude, they could start a family. But now was not the time. Thinking such wistful thoughts could only lead to trouble.  
  
A hundred happy greetings danced around the room, but then there was suddenly deafening silence as Goodman Kushrenada finally showed up to the celebration, bringing along his cousin, Lady Dorothy Catalonia. It was common knowledge that the girl was to be arriving all the way from England. But her entrance...it would be the stuff of stories for years.   
  
The pitcher nearly slipped from her hand as Hilde caught her first glimpse of the new girl. Never in her life had she seen such colors, outside of the evening sky itself. The young woman's gown was velvet in all different shades of purple. The fabric looked soft and delicate compared to the rigid, colorless dress of the village. Although, Hilde couldn't help but be appalled at the same time she was amazed. The gown might have been stunning, but partly because it was practically indecent. Slits in an outfits sleeves were something that had been banned by God Himself for both men and women; they were frippery, unnecessary and decadent.   
  
But Dorothy Catalonia's long sleeves had no less than five slits each; through the slashes, her delicate white chemise was visible, causing some of the village's women to look away, ashamed for the new arrival, as well as embarrassed by their own drab dresses.  
  
Hilde felt it, too. Like a weed compared to the vibrant flower that had just arrived from England. She couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to wear something like that dress, just once. Placing the pitcher back on the table, Hilde wiped her hands on her apron, chastising herself for her thoughts. Envy was one of the seven deadly sins. And she'd broken enough of them already. An image of the night she spent with Duo in the woods flashed in her mind, a constant reminder of this, and the punishment that was likely lurking just around the corner.   
  
Treize introduced his cousin to the curious and startled villagers, finally stopping in front of Hilde's mistress and friend. Although Dorothy stood out in the crowd, she could not outshine Relena's beauty and grace, even if the latter was clad in course cotton rather than expensive velvet. And it seemed that Dorothy was well aware of this fact, too, even after only a few minutes. Part of her wished to be closer, just so she could find out what her mistress and the newcomer were saying to each other. But the conversation didn't last long before the magistrate escorted Dorothy towards another group of people.  
  
"Hilde, goodly eve to you."   
  
Jumping, Hilde turned around, clutching the fabric of her dress over her heart, only to see Heero standing directly behind her. "Goodly eve, Master Heero," she recovered quickly. Her eyes scanned the space behind him, searching.  
  
"If you look for Maxwell, he lags behind, somewhere in the midst of the square. Perhaps in back of the blacksmith's."  
  
Heero moved away from her before she could thank him, or ask him if he had been reading her thoughts. She watched as he made his way through the throng of villagers and took a spot as near to Relena as possible. They made a handsome couple, and everyone agreed it was a matter of time before he asked for her hand. Though, there was one person who seemed determined not to let the union happen. Millardo Peacecraft. Good it was that village law was not on his side, and a young woman of marriageable age need look nowhere but her own heart when choosing a husband.  
  
Slowly skirting away from the celebration, Hilde made sure that no one paid her any mind, checking one last time to see that the eyes of her master were focused elsewhere.   
  
She wasn't sure exactly why Duo had chosen to hide in the dark, open-air workplace of the town blacksmith, but she headed for it, her heart beating fast. As she walked, a hand snaked out and pulled her into the alleyway between the magistrate's office and the leather worker's.  
  
"Hello, love." His violet eyes shone brightly, despite the dim light. Duo's mouth descended onto hers, stealing not only the air in her lungs, but all sense of logic and reason she possessed. Hilde whimpered as his tongue toyed with her lips, coaxing them open bit by bit. He was hot and demanding; she yielded to him, giving them what they both desired. The kiss became consuming, causing the small embers inside of her body to ignite into a wildfire. Hilde knew she had to break the contact before things got out of control, or before they were discovered.  
  
"Duo…" she murmured, breaking the kiss. Her skin felt flushed and she was positive that her lips were swollen and bruised. Lifting her hand, she touched them, finding them still moist from his kiss. "Tis true I wanted to see thee, but I must not dally long. I shall be missed and..."  
  
He placed a quieting finger on her lips. "I know. But I can't help myself when I'm around you." His hand moved away to stroke a glossy curl that had escaped her cap. "One day, we won't have to hide or lurk in shadows."  
  
"Oh, how I look forward to that day." She wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.  
  
"As far as I'm concerned, love, we already are man and wife." Duo pulled her back and tipped her face up to see his. "Those people, in the garden of Eden...what were their names?"  
  
"Adam and Eve," she supplied.   
  
"Right, Adam and Eve. They didn't stand in front of a church in order to be married. Love bound them together, as it has us." He took her hands into his. "When you're alone at night, remember that I love you." Smiling wickedly, he continued, "And I'm wishing you were warming my bed instead of the dog."  
  
Hilde playfully smacked him on his arm. "Thou art a horrible man, Duo Maxwell."  
  
"Aye. And you love me for it." Placing a chaste kiss on her lips, he ushered her out into the moonlight. "Go on ahead. I'll follow."  
  
"Duo." She touched his cheek. "I love only you." Straightening her rumpled clothing, Hilde picked up the hem of her dress and dashed all the way back to the Meeting House, hoping she hadn't been missed. She slowed to a fast walk as she got nearer and entered the building as calm as a saint and just in time to join the rest of the town as they took to their seats.   
  
She felt the blood rise up to her cheeks again when Duo sauntered into the Meeting House and sat down next to Heero, a mischievous twinkle in his violet eyes. Beside her, Relena cleared her throat, breaking the spell he cast over her and reminding Hilde that other people were watching.   
  
At the head table, Millardo stood up and gave the blessing. "O Lord our God and heavenly Father, which of Thy unspeakable mercy towards us, hast provided meat and drink for the nourishment of our weak bodies. We humbly beseech Thee, good Lord, that as we do hunger and thirst for this food of our bodies, so our souls may earnestly long after the food of eternal life, through our Lord and Savior. Amen."  
  
A hushed 'Amen' echoed from the villagers before the men filled their plates, followed by the women and then the children. Subdued conversation buzzed about the tables. Recipes were exchanged, the health of family members enquired after, the year's harvest discussed. A fair number of times it was mentioned that it looked to be an early winter, and to punctuate the fact, the wind would blow through the paneless windows, causing a few women to clutch their shawls closer to their bodies.   
  
Hilde observed it all through her lowered eyes. Unless she was spoken to directly, she was not expected to speak. Lifting a piece of roast fowl to her lips, she let her gaze drift over to Duo, watching as he continued to talk to his friend, and master. Heero had no replies to whatever Duo was saying, but the pulsing vein and clenched jaw proved that he was at least listening. Hilde stifled a giggle; she was going to have to tell Duo to stop teasing Heero about her mistress. One of these days, he was bound to get more than just a black eye.  
  
Soon the meal was over and the arduous chore ahead of them commenced. As the women cleared away the dishes, the men began hauling in huge baskets of the freshly picked corn. Sinking her hands into soapy water, Hilde brushed an old piece of cloth across a trencher before passing it off to another woman who would rinse the suds off, before passing it down to be dried. Across the way, Relena collected the extra food, which would be divided up and passed out to the families who needed it the most.   
  
She watched Relena's cheeks turn pink; to counter the blush, her mistress threw herself into her work. Looking in the same direction, Hilde smiled. Of course. The sight of Heero and Duo lifting the heavy baskets, muscles flexing under their white shirts would make just about anyone have sinful thoughts. She glanced back at Relena; a secret smile was shared between the two friends, and Hilde had to feign a coughing fit to stifle the giggles that erupted from her.   
  
Soon, the tables were clean and all had been prepared to begin the husking. Being that she was technically part of the Peacecraft family, and thereby part of their place in village society, she would sit on the blanket beside Relena, Noin, with Goodman Kushrenada's daughter and cousin.  
  
Relena helped Noin down on a stool that someone had provided before sitting down herself. Right next to Dorothy. It was a bold move; anyone could tell that there was already no love-loss between the two young women, although most of it seemed to be stemming from Dorothy's side. In fact, it was very likely that Relena was completely clueless to the fact that she was wholy disliked by the girl at her side. "Would thou care to learn how it 'tis done, Miss Catalonia?" Relena asked.   
  
The English woman sniffed, disdainfully. "I suppose I might as well, since there is little else of interest with which to occupy my time." Her gray eyes drifted over to a group of men and instantly focused on Heero. "Yet."  
  
Hilde bit her tongue, ripping the leaves as hard as she could. This explained the hostility. Surely the rumors of Heero and Relena's unofficial courtship had reached the Kushrenada household. And with the looks that she had seen Dorothy shooting Heero's way during the meal....it seemed to her that the newcomer had set her sights on the man her mistress loved.  
  
Noticing nothing, or perhaps being far too much of a lady to create a scene, Relena simply showed Dorothy how to pull back the thick, green leaves that protected the ear of corn. Once it had been shucked, she gathered up as many of the silky strings that wrapped around the yellow vegetable, dropped the husk and the silk into the refuse pile and the ear of corn into another basket. "Tis a very simple process."  
  
Mimicking the motions, Dorothy pulled on the outer leaves of an ear she plucked from the largest basket. "Ow!" She looked down at the thin line of blood that welled up from her finger. Tossing the ear of corn back, she stood. "The delicate hands of a lady should never have to do such menial labor."   
  
The loudly spoken barb went ignored by most of the women, but Hilde saw Relena flinch. It made her blood boil that this newcomer had the nerve to imply that Relena was not a lady, just because she hadn't been raised in London. Though if Dorothy was any indication, all of the ladies in England lacked the inner beauty that was supposed to go along with the title.   
  
Dusting off her dress and pulling her gloves back on her hands, Dorothy rose. "My trip has left me extremely exhausted. I believe I will retire for the evening." With a swish of her skirts, she left the small group and headed over towards her cousin.  
  
Hilde watched as Treize introduced her to a number of the men standing around, but paid particular attention when she was presented to Heero. Dorothy extended her hand, palm down, as if waiting for something. Heero simply looked at it before nodding his head and returning to the task of husking.  
  
"Think you that God is punishing us by sending up the Devil's daughter?" Hilde whispered in Relena's ear.  
  
"Hilde!!" Relena's chastising tone caused her to blush and go back to her work.   
  
Grabbing another ear of corn, Hilde settled in for a long night that held the promise of sore, cut hands for the morning.  
  
***************  
  
The moon was full and bright. Stars dotted the night sky overhead, lighting her way as she moved through the thick grass. Each blade held the beginnings of morning dew. They tickled the bottoms of her feet and her ankles.   
  
Chilly air swept across her skin, causing her flesh to goose-pimple. She probably should have worn a shawl, but the simple white shift was what she had been wearing when the moon woke her up and called to her. The delicate woven material skimmed her calves with each step she took as she got closer to her destination, the growing place for herbs on the south side of the hill. As was the tradition taught to her by the Iroquois Indians, these certain herbs could only be harvested on the first full moon of fall.  
  
She balanced a misshapen clay bowl on her hip as she strolled through the evening. The symphony of the night lulled her into a relaxed state, and she found herself humming along with the wordless song.   
  
She was at peace. Too many memories of her life long ago, a life which was stolen away from her in the most brutal manner possible, plagued her thoughts during the day. But the night belonged to her. Even though this harvest moon belonged not only to her, but to the village. The people in the village, the ones who had robbed her of so much.  
  
It took the lone cry of a wolf to bring her to her senses and release her death grip on the bowl. Taking a few deep breaths, she tossed the memories aside and continued to walk, this time in silence. The natural garden was bathed by the moon, and a few flowers, fooled by the intense light, had opened their buds. She knelt on the ground to collect them.   
  
A happy smile bubbled onto her lips, surfacing from the part of her that still loved to play in the dirt. They hadn't been able to take away that simple pleasure from her. Her eyes drifted closed as she sunk her hands into the dark, rich soil and began her work. This was not a chore to her, but something that was part of her soul, something that she enjoyed. Carefully, she moved from plant to plant, gathering the parts of each that could be used for food. Or other purposes.  
  
Halfway through picking heartsease, she froze. The song of the night had stopped. No birds, insects or other animals could be heard. It could only mean one thing; someone was nearby.  
  
Dusting off her hand, she stood and turned about, surveying her surroundings. She should have been paying closer attention, instead of being caught up in the harvest. Whoever it was, they were closer than she initially thought, and she had no way of defending herself.   
  
"Make your presence known!" Breaking the rules she had been taught by Whispering Waters, she shouted as panic, fear and anger waged war inside of her. She couldn't yell for help, since the nearest Iroquois village was a good day's walk away. So, she stood her ground and waited.  
  
It didn't take too long before the intruder showed himself. Her blue eyes narrowed as the shadowed form took on the shape of a person. The only people she tolerated visiting her were the family that had taken her in when she was sixteen summers old.  
  
Finally, the person stepped into the moonlight, and the silver rays of light illuminated his features. His lanky body had a sleek hidden power, reminding her of the mountain cat she had seen early in the day. His dark eyes trailed over her, making her feel like she wasn't even wearing what little clothes she was. Crossing her arms over her breasts, her fingernails bit into the smooth flesh of her hands. It was a man, and men could not be trusted.  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
The venom in her voice was returned with a haughty smile. The arrogant man had the gall to smirk at her as he closed the distance between them. "Unaware was I that anyone lived so deep in the wood. Until I came 'cross a house two moons ago."   
  
"So...it was you who snooped 'round my cottage the other morn'." Grinding out the sentence between her clenched teeth was hard, but she managed. It was when he stopped on the other side of the garden that she noticed his clothing for the first time. She knew the style of his garments, probably better then the man wearing them. And she knew what they stood for. Evil.  
  
There was no denying the fact that the man had come from Sanq.   
  
"Leave now!" she ordered. Bending over quickly, she retrieved her bowl of herbs and when she stood she motioned in the direction of the village. "You and your kind are not welcome here."  
  
"I have done naught to deserve this from you, woman." He took a step forward, "In faith, all I cared to do was discover who would make their home so far from the village, if they were not a savage."  
  
She took a few retreating steps back, but still the man continued to advance. Shaking her head, she refused to listen to his words. Her feet moved as fast as they could, taking her back with each step, but her heel hit a raised tree root, sending her to the ground.  
  
The jarring motion caused her to drop the clay bowl, scattering all the herbs across the floor of the forest. Torn between picking up her ruined harvest, rubbing her bruised hip, or backing away from the man who had moved directly in front of her, she chose the latter.   
  
The damp grass stained the white material deeper with each push of her arms. A look came into her eyes that he seemed to know well, the same look a wild animal has when staring down the arrow of a hunter. Her pupils grew wide as she watched him extend his hand down towards her arm. "Do not touch me!" she cried.  
  
Thunder rumbled across the sky, making him jump back, his arm coming to rest slack against his side. Bewildered by her independence and possibly resentful of it as well, he stared at her. "Have it your own way, woman. I thought only to keep thou from hurting thyself. There are wolves in the wood; how they would love to sink teeth into you."  
  
Tucking her feet beneath her body, she rose, her legs trembling and barely strong enough to hold her weight. Her blue eyes burned with warring emotions. "Never come back to this place again. Or you'll have more than me with which to reckon."  
  
Overhead, a thick layer of clouds moved across the moon, extinguishing its glow. Using the blessed darkness to her advantage, she turned and ran back to the cottage, her feet flying across the uneven ground.  
  
When the clouds parted and moved away on the night breeze, she had completely disappeared from sight. Wufei Chang stood in the middle of the forest, shaking his head. If there was a woman on Earth who could be understood, it would truly be an act of God.   
  
His hunter's eye caught motion behind him. As quietly and as swiftly as possible, he unhooked his bow from his arm, fixed an arrow into it and turned, letting the weapon fly. It struck the deer he had sensed exactly where he wanted it to, straight through the heart. The animal died instantly.   
  
As he went to retrieve it, he couldn't stop thinking about the blond woman with piercing eyes, collecting herbs alone in the dark forest. She wasn't an Indian; he had more savage blood running through his veins that she could possibly have. But what was a white woman doing alone so deep in the primitive wilderness?   
  
Could she be the medicine woman the villagers twittered about? The non-believer, the savage lover, the spawn of Satan. He slung the deer over his shoulders and started back to Sanq. The meat would be appreciated as so much of their supply went into the ridiculous corn-husking he had refused to attend.   
  
The medicine woman. He snorted softly. Whoever she was, it was better off that she didn't live in the village. He liked his women spirited, but insane...that was another matter entirely. 


	3. Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done

Disclaimer: The characters herewithin do not belong to either Kristen Elizabeth or Loyce. We clear?   
  
Author's Notes: Appreciative we are for all the feedback. Hope we do that people still enjoy the story. Hard it is to talk like Yoda. Okay, forget that. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, but I'll have even more fun lighing a fire under Loyce's feet so the next chapter won't be too far behind:) Hehehe...enjoy everyone!  
  
****  
  
And He Walks With Me  
by Kristen Elizabeth and Loyce  
  
****  
  
Of all her chores, Relena's favorite by far was sewing. Not only did she have the nimble fingers and keen eye necessary to make a thousand delicate stitches, she also had the patience. It was well-known that the clothes she made were some of the best constructed in the village. But it wasn't a gown or a waistcoat that currently held her attention. With all of her skills, and more importantly, all of her heart, Relena sat in front of the hearth after the noon meal, piecing together impossibly tiny dressing gowns for her unborn niece or nephew.   
  
She admired the pure white wool her brother's wife had spun early on in her pregnancy. It was so soft against her hands, the perfect texture for a newborn. Another four months seem so long to wait for the chance to hold the babe. Although, there was still much work to be done before it arrived. Not nearly enough nappies had been sewn yet, and Millardo wasn't anywhere near finished building the cradle in which his child would sleep. Blankets, Relena made a mental note. The baby would arrive in the dead of winter; it would not be possible to sew too many blankets.   
  
A sudden flash of fear gripped her heart. Winter was a dangerous time for a woman to give birth, especially in the colonies. So many children and mothers died, their bodies kept frozen until they could be buried in the spring. Relena pushed aside her worries by making a series of perfect stitches down the arm of the dressing gown. Nothing was going to happen to Lucrezia. She was in perfect health according to Dr. J. More than that, they were lucky enough to live in a clean home with plenty of food and water and firewood. The birth wouldn't be easy, but there was no reason, save for the inexplicable hand of God, why both mother and child couldn't survive.   
  
The heavy sound of a fist against the wood of the front door jolted Relena out of her thoughts and caused her to stab her thumb with her needle. Letting out a little cry of pain, she dropped the baby's gown before her blood could stain it. The knock came again, louder and more insistent. Relena waited patiently for Hilde to answer the door, but her friend never appeared. She frowned slightly; hopefully there was nothing wrong with her. Ever since the corn-husking almost three weeks past, Hilde's head had been lodged somewhere in the clouds, even during Meetings.   
  
Relena stood up from her bench and crossed the parlor to answer the door before the knocking woke Lucrezia from her much-needed nap. Remembering that the temperature had taken a drastic drop in the past few days, she threw on her shawl before pulling the door open.   
  
A smile of pure delight lit up her entire face. "Heero!"  
  
He stood just outside the house, a thick cloak fastened up to his throat. His broad shoulders were dusted with the beginnings of powdery snow and his eyes shone dark river blue. "'Tis the first snow of the season," he said, thrilling her with his low, smooth voice. "Are you able to come share it with me?"   
  
Biting into her lower lip, Relena glanced back into the house. Lucrezia was asleep, Hilde was nowhere to be found and Millardo was in his study, preparing for Sunday's Meeting. She would not be missed, at least for a short while. She looked back at Heero, her cheeks pink from cold and anticipation. "I shall need a heavier shawl. Wait a moment." Closing the door on him just a bit to keep the snow out of the house, Relena fumbled about the parlor, searching for the cloak she had worn out that morning. When she finally found it and had it on, she tried not to run back to the door.   
  
He was still standing outside, rubbing his gloved hands together. She thought for a second about going back for her own, but by the time she had the door closed, Heero had already taken her free hand in his and raised it to his lips for a kiss.   
  
She looked down at her shoes, to hide her smile. "Is that the only sort of kiss a girl should expect from thee this afternoon, Heero?"  
  
"Ask and you shall receive," Heero replied, cupping her hands entirely within the warmth of his own. His words made her blush spread; it had been so long since they had been able to find a few moments alone. He wasn't about to rush things. Today would be a very important day in their lives and everything had to go absolutely perfectly.   
  
Relena peered at him out of the corner of her eye as they started down the gentle slope to their tree. "Why are you not at lessons with the doctor? Has he given you leave for the day?"  
  
"That could be said." Heero looked up at the overcast sky. "Winter comes without warning this year."  
  
"Aye." She shivered slightly, despite the heat from his body. "Tis good that all was prepared in time."   
  
They stopped once they were beneath their tree, hidden from view of the house by the wide trunk. "Twas not for talk of the weather that I came calling, Relena." Heero paused for a second as he watched her eyes. The cool blue he had come to love so much watched him right back, innocent and hopeful. Beautiful. "In truth, I was given leave by the doctor. But not from the day's lessons. From the lessons themselves." He took a breath. "My apprenticeship with the doctor has ended. By his own admission, he has taught me all I need to know."  
  
Relena drew in a little breath. "Heero..."  
  
"Tis free I am, to tend to the village's medicinal needs myself. I shall leave the doctor's home to make one of my own." He released his hands to cup her lovely face. "With you, Relena. I have no other wish than to spend my life with you."   
  
"Oh..." She pressed her bare, cold hand to her trembling lips.  
  
"Be my wife," Heero whispered, his breath hot against her mouth. "I...I need you."   
  
"Heero," she repeated. Her tears almost froze on her cheeks as she began to nod. "I shall marry you. I love you so."   
  
A happy cry went up from her when Heero wrapped his arms around her cinched waist and lifted her off the ground. Laughing, she looked down at him. The sad eyes of the boy she had fallen in love with years earlier had been replaced by the happy ones of a content man. On impulse, she dipped her head and took his lips in a soft kiss.   
  
Eventually, her feet touched the ground again, but she wasn't quite sure when. Heero turned the gentle kiss into something much deeper, heating her entire body with his lean, strong frame and burning tongue. Nothing could take away the joy of kissing Heero, not even a thousand damning passages from the Bible.   
  
He pulled back and stroked her cheek with his index finger. "I want us to marry here. When the snow melts and spring comes."   
  
"Millardo will have objections; he shall want us to marry at the Meeting House," she said quietly. What she didn't add was that Millardo would have objections to them marrying anywhere.   
  
"Twill not be an easy battle to sway his thinking." Heero smiled at her, his rare, private look that only she was fortunate enough to be given. "But I shall prevail."   
  
Relena closed her eyes and tilted her face up. "Tis a lifetime away, spring."   
  
Without warning, he planted a hot kiss on the smooth column of her throat. Her eyes flew open at the sudden, shocking sensation. Warmth bubbled up in the center of her body. As she stared at the bare branches above them, Heero showed no signs of stopping what he was doing. And to her own surprise, she made no motion to stop him.  
  
Her skin felt like velvet under his lips. He'd imagined doing this for so long, kissing places other than her lips. Her neck, her ears, the sinfully pert breasts she naively pressed against his chest when they embraced in secret. He would have to wait for that until spring came and they were joined before God, but for now, he had her throat bared in front of him. And he wasn't one to waste an opportunity.   
  
His tongue darted out and danced across her flesh. Her velvet skin...it tasted sweeter than fresh raspberries. He heard it then, the tiniest moan coming from his Relena. A whisper of a gasp. Her hands grasped his cloak, pulling at the material. He smiled against her skin and snaked the tip of his tongue up and down.   
  
Whatever it was that he was doing, it was little wonder if it was sinful. Certainly the feelings it elicited within her had to be. Her entire lower body felt like liquid; it was all she could do to hold onto him for support. Was this the fornication Millardo rallied so hard against? Her heart pounded beneath her breast. "Heero..." she moaned.   
  
When his mouth moved from her neck, the cold bit into the moist patch of skin he left behind. He kissed her and she felt it all throughout her body, from her toes to the hard tips of her breasts. His breath came faster and harder. "Twould not be right for us to do more," he said, the words sticking in his dry throat.   
  
"'There's more?"  
  
He wanted to laugh, but she said it with such virginal surprise, that he just couldn't. His betrothed, she was wholly and entirely innocent. It was going to be painfully difficult, but he would wait to show her everything that came afterwards. Everything they could do together. Every comfort and every pleasure. "Aye, that there is." Her forehead crinkled slightly. "Did you enjoy it not?"  
  
"Nay!" she said a little too forcefully. This time, he had to smile. "Nay, Heero." She licked her lips, tasting his. "I only wondered. Tis true...I know...very little about such things."   
  
"I must think, how God-graced am I to be chosen to show thee." Heero kissed her forehead. "When we marry, Relena. I promise. Not until we marry."   
  
Her hesitations assuaged, Relena melted back into Heero's embrace, barely noticing when he angled his lower body away from her. Had she felt how ready he was to show her right then, her shock would have been much greater.   
  
They walked back to the house together, hand in hand. Heero came in for a moment at her invitation, to warm his hands before the long walk back into the village. But the imposing figure of Millardo Peacecraft sat in the parlor, waiting for them. And it was clear that Heero wouldn't be going anywhere for awhile.  
  
****  
  
The first snow of the season. Treize watched the whispers of white fall to the ground from his large window. Another year come and gone and winter was upon them again. How many would be lost to the cold this year? And what of the Indians? Winter was as hard on them as it was on the villagers; even if they did provide well for themselves, it was not unheard of for a village to be attacked, raided for its supplies.   
  
It wouldn't happen to his town. With every able man between sixteen and fifty enlisted in the militia, Sanq Village was quite safe from whatever might happen. At least, he told himself, safe from the dangers of man. It was still too soon after the incident in the square for him to forget what ungodly things could happen to his village.   
  
"Father." Mariemaia came up behind him, her hands clasped neatly in front of her. "Will thou read to us tonight?" Turning his head, he looked past his daughter. Dorothy lounged on a settee in front of the fire in a dress meant for dancing and frivolity; she looked thoroughly bored with the entire world.   
  
"Ask thy cousin to read to thee," Treize replied, patting Mariemaia's red head as he moved past her. "I have things to which I must attend." He missed the crestfallen look on her face as he advanced up the stairs. There were three doors on the second floor of his expensive home; one led to the bedroom shared by his daughter and his cousin, and one opened into his own bed chamber. But the third was rarely opened as it was heavily locked and only he held the key.   
  
He used it now to disappear through the third door and lock it behind him. Replacing the key in his pocket, he climbed the dusty steps to the third level of the house, the attic no one entered but him.   
  
There were no windows, but light peeked through the boards and thatch that made up the roof. It was horrifically cold, and at the far corner of the wide space, dark. It was in that darkness that he sensed motion.   
  
"Anne," he said lowly. "Tis only me."   
  
A face emerged from the shadows, the delicate nose and lips he knew so well. "Cold," she whispered.   
  
"I shall bring you more blankets." He moved towards her, and her face disappeared back into the shadows. "Come out of there, Anne. I wish to see thee."   
  
It took a moment, but finally, with the rustling and clanking of the chains that kept her safe from the world, she stood up and moved into the light. He released a breathless sigh. She was still so beautiful, even with her hair matted and her clothes in rags from her own nails. And even in the depths of her insanity, she was still so quiet...he had lusted after her ability to be so perfectly silent in public, yet so passionate in his bed. Her body was still something to behold, and he felt the tug of desire below his belt.   
  
"You have not eaten," Treize said, indicating the plate of food he had brought her that morning.   
  
She shook her head. "The snow sang a song to me and I could only listen to it."   
  
He lowered his chin. The crazy words, the jumbled speeches, they were what had started it all. And when had they begun? The first year of their marriage. She'd wanted to bear him a child so much, but after a year, no babe had been conceived. After the crazy words came the suicide attempts. And then the day she nearly pushed five year-old Mariemaia into the fire, convinced that the sacrifice would please God, and that he would make her pregnant.   
  
It was only after this that he'd made the decision to lock her up here. Truthfully, it was just easier to tell the village that she had died of the fever and hold a funeral with an empty coffin. Now, he had her entirely to himself when he wanted her. And he didn't have to be bothered with her when he didn't.   
  
Right then, he wanted her. Raising his head, Treize looked straight into her vacant brown eyes. "Lay down, Anne."   
  
She did as she was told; she always did. He felt those eyes on him as he advanced, unbuttoning the flap on his dark breeches and pulling his shirt up and out. Her stare never wavered as he knelt down, unlocked her shackles, lifted her skirts and crawled between her legs. On the outside, she was frigid, but inside, she was hot and moist. He held himself up over her as he thrust, frowning when she winced.   
  
"Touch me, Anne," he ordered. "Touch me like you once did."   
  
Her fingers felt like icicles on his back when she slid them underneath his shirt. He closed his eyes as the pleasure doubled. No woman, not his first wife, not the whoring widows who were more than happy to couple with the supposed widower magistrate, not the savage women he'd loved to take in his youth, none of them could ever come close to Anne. Two minutes into her and he was ready.   
  
He thrust one more time and collapsed onto her with heavy groan, flooding her with wet warmth. When they were first married, before intercourse became a means to a baby and nothing else, she would have come with him, clasping his sex with hers, clinging to his body, gasping for breath, crying out his name.   
  
A loud curse escaped his lips when he felt her razor sharp nail slice into the flesh of his chest. Still buried within her, he looked down at his stomach. Blood dripped down to the place where they were joined from a deep gash she had made. Horrified, he watched her suck her bloody finger into her mouth with a smile.   
  
Treize couldn't pull out of her fast enough. He backed away, ignoring the cold on his wet flesh. She lifted herself up on one elbow and withdrew her finger from her mouth. Her hand drifted down to the heated place between her legs, displayed so indecently. "There are no more songs here," she said. After a moment, she rolled to her side and curled herself into a ball. "And I no longer listen to you."   
  
He wasted little time fixing his clothes and securing her shackles. She'd be fine without the blankets for one night, he told himself, as he thundered down the hidden staircase. Locked inside of her insanity, she'd keep herself warm. When he reached his room, Treize ran all ten fingers through his hair. Blood spotted his shirt, blood she had tasted! Like some savage, pagan whore! His Anne was slipping away, his pure, passionate angel. The day might come when he would have to end her suffering. He could do it, it would be hard, but not impossible.   
  
After he washed up and changed his clothes, he came downstairs. He could hear a hushed conversation taking place between Mariemaia and Dorothy, but he cared not what two twittering girls had to talk about. As long as Dorothy's wayward nature didn't rub off on his daughter, it didn't do his daughter any harm to have another woman in the house.   
  
He returned to his window to watch the snow, unaware that well out of his sight, Anne watched it as well. Watched it and laughed.  
  
****  
  
His dreams were shot through with green, the clean grass color of that man's eyes. Quatre woke in a cold sweat, his nightshirt sticking to his chest. He sat up quickly in the dark. How many more times would this happen? How many more ways would he be plagued by this unnatural obsession? In the short time since he had arrived in the colonies, he'd only seen Trowa Barton three times, and the last two were only as he passed by the house he shared with his sister on his long rides through the countryside.   
  
It wasn't normal, the rush of blood that went to his head when the Puritan man would tip his hat at him. Barton was only being neighborly, surprising since Quatre was not only a member of the Church of England, but technically owned the land on which both of their houses stood.   
  
That was a piece of information he'd only recently discovered, and one he wasn't likely to share with Trowa Barton. He wouldn't be exercising any of his rights as the landowner and demanding taxes or anything any other English proprietor might have done. His only interest in the Barton's property was in seeing them continue to work it and live off of it as they were doing so successfully on their own.   
  
He supposed it wasn't odd to consider the man an acquaintance. They appeared to be about the same age, after all, and their religious beliefs aside, seemed to have a few things in common. Farming, riding, living a peaceful life on their own terms. Given time, they might even become friends.   
  
Which was why the dreams had to stop. Not only were they an abomination in any religion, but it was too much for him to take, carrying around lust in his heart for someone he could never have. The weight of his secret life was hard enough to bear in London, where at least he had an outlet for it. The whores on the other side of the Thames weren't all women, after all. But here in the pure virginity of the New World, that sort of release could find you hanging by the end of a rope. Or worse, flat on your back with rocks piled onto your chest.   
  
Quatre lay back down with a loud sigh. It was only in the light of day that his sexuality tortured him. At night when he fell into his cold, lonely bed, he couldn't help wanting someone there to share it with him. And he couldn't help imagining that Trowa Barton was there and that he had his tall, muscular body to warm him up. It never even occurred to him to wish for Catherine's small, curvy body.   
  
He fell asleep with one arm draped across the empty side of the bed, green eyes still haunting his dreams.   
  
****  
  
"Lucy...may I ask thee a question?"  
  
Lucrezia looked at Relena as she started a fire in the bedroom's small hearth. The sheets she had just eased her body into were still cold and she was grateful for the younger girl's help and thoughtfulness. Millardo would likely not come to bed until well after she was asleep. And even if she were to seek the heat of his body in the night, he would keep his distance. He had a fear of harming their child; after she had begun to show, he refused to make love, and as her stomach grew bigger, his resolve grew stronger.   
  
"Of course you may, Relena."   
  
Her husband's sister was quiet for a long moment. "'Tis a rather...shocking question."  
  
At that, Lucrezia knew what she was about to be asked. The corners of her lips turned up. Despite Millardo's protests, Heero and Relena had made their hidden affections official that very day. It was only a matter of time, she had figured, before she would get to play the part of the older sister and answer Relena's questions about marriage and what exactly in entailed.   
  
"I shall still answer it," she assured her.  
  
With the fire crackling merrily, Relena crossed to the wide bed Lucrezia and her brother shared. Her hands shook; she threaded her fingers to hide her nervousness. "Tis about..." She stopped, her cheeks absolutely painted scarlet. "I cannot even say the words."   
  
Lucrezia reached for Relena's hand, urging the girl to sit on the edge of the bed where she could see her better. "Come now, Relena. We are sisters."   
  
Relena's eyes were troubled. "Tis about..." she began again. "Tis about Heero. And I. And..."   
  
When she failed to continue, Lucrezia took pity on her. "Ah. I believe I understand. 'Tis lovemaking you wish to know about."   
  
"Lucy!"  
  
"Tis not a sinful word, Relena, anymore than it 'tis a sinful act." She rubbed her hand over the mound of her stomach. "How think you this baby came to be? Surely not out of sin."  
  
The blond girl swallowed. "Then out of what, sister?"   
  
"Love," was her simple reply. "The love your brother and I share. When that sort of love exists between a man and a woman, it must be expressed. That 'tis lovemaking. And there's naught in this world that 'tis more beautiful."   
  
She could see a frown on Relena's smooth brow. "But...what exactly is it?"  
  
Thirty minutes later, Lucrezia had outlined the basics as best she could. She'd tried to be delicate, but it was obvious that the facts of life were shocking to Relena, as they had been to her. But she'd had no older sister or mother willing to explain it all to her. She'd gone to Millardo's bed without any knowledge. And it had taken a long time for her to enjoy anything that happened there. If she could spare Relena the pain of ignorance, she would.   
  
"'Tis a lot to learn in one night, Relena." The girl nodded. "Does it scare thee?"  
  
"A bit," Relena said truthfully. "Twill hurt. Will it not?"  
  
"Aye. 'Tis unavoidable. But I swear, it shall become pleasurable with time." Lucrezia smiled. "Heero will know what to do, but you should never be feared to tell him what it 'tis that you are feeling. Lovemaking is for two people, not one."  
  
Relena nodded again. After a moment, her first smile since Heero had departed appeared. "Would thou think me wanton if I said I look forward to it?" When Lucrezia shook her head, Relena relaxed. "I love Heero with all of my heart; I want to bear him children. If...this be what it takes, I shall not dread it." A peaceful moment passed between them before Relena lowered her head to kiss her sister's cheek. "Pleasant sleep, Lucy." She rose to go, but paused at the door. "And...thank you."  
  
When she was gone, Lucrezia settled back into her down pillow, still smiling. Within her body, the baby kicked several times. She longed for Millardo to be there, to feel it. But his half of the bed was cold and empty. Willing back her tears, she fell asleep to the cheerful snap of the fire.   
  
Much later, after the fire had died almost entirely down, Millardo slipped into bed beside his sleeping wife. He watched her for a long time, the rise and fall of her chest below the thick quilts, her breath visible in the cold air, her lovely face so serene. And the swelling in her belly...he reached out to touch it. His child, growing within the woman he loved with his entire heart.   
  
Guilt crept up over him. Sometimes, he thought he might just love Lucrezia more than he loved God.   
  
He withdrew his hand and after a moment, turned to his other side. When she reached out to him in her sleep, lightly touching his back, he pushed her hands away. His restraint hung by a thread. When she touched him too much, he wanted her too badly. One day, he might not be able to stop himself from taking her. And he'd rather die than hurt her or their child with his own weakness.   
  
****  
  
Millardo was not the only member of the household plagued with guilt that night. In the bed she shared with Relena, Hilde lay awake long after her mistress had fallen asleep with a happy smile on her face. She wanted to be jealous of Relena. Relena and Heero were to be married in a matter of months; she had every reason to be happy. Hilde pinched herself. Any happiness Miss Relena had was well-deserved. She had done nothing to upset God. She had not sinned.   
  
Hilde closed her eyes in sheer agony. Admittedly, she did not know much about what she and Duo had shared in the woods beyond how the pleasure he'd given her had erased the pain, but what she did know was enough. Her monthly flow had been missed twice now and there was little doubt in her mind what it meant.   
  
She was being punished.   
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


	4. On Earth as it is in Heaven

Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me, just the story I put them into.  
  
Author's Notes: Due to extreme life situations and even more extreme time constrictions, Loyce is, unfortunately, not going to be able to co-author this story with me anymore, although we still talk about plot happenings every now and then. I'm going to miss writing with her, because it was a lot of fun. Sniff. Okay, just needed to let everyone know that. Enjoy this chapter; sorry it took so long to get out. I'm going to try not to let as much time pass before the next update. Thank you everyone who's still reading, and everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I appreciate it very much!  
  
****  
  
And He Walks With Me  
  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
Dorothy had come to both dread and crave Wednesdays and Sundays. While it was true that there was absolutely nothing drearier than an hour-long sermon damning everything that made life enjoyable, it also couldn't be overlooked that Meetings were the two times during the week when she could get out of the stifling silence of her cousin's house and interact with the villagers, such as they were.   
  
Her dresses still shocked them, and that absolutely delighted Dorothy. For awhile, she'd been afraid that Treize's mild disapproval of the bright fabrics and slit sleeves would start to echo the downright outrage she perceived from the town's women, but in the few weeks she'd been in the colonies, her cousin's attentions had been elsewhere, even in the midst of conversation. She wasn't sure what was preoccupying him, but as long as he left her alone to dress as she liked, she really couldn't bring herself to care.   
  
That Sunday, five weeks after her arrival, she found herself walking--of all things, walking!--towards the nondescript Meeting House, facing another hour of religious babble and disapproving looks. Mariemaia was at her side, chattering as she too often did. The girl had been amusing for a brief time, but now Dorothy found her company irksome, to say the least. Even now, she went on and on about the new dress that was being made for her, and how it was going to be dark blue thanks to some sort of berry. Dark blue. Dorothy shook her head. In London, she'd had dresses in every color of the rainbow. Most of them had stayed behind, but the ones she still had, including the pale green frock she was currently wearing, were far more eye-catching than indigo blue could ever hope to be.   
  
Still, she let Mariemaia talk, and let her believe that she was actually listening. Truthfully, Dorothy's thoughts of late had one path, and it inevitably lead to one person. The person who, as they drew closer to the Meeting House, came into their sight a few paces ahead of them. All pretense of giving a damn about Mariemaia's country clothing faded as Dorothy studied Heero Yuy.   
  
He was, without a doubt, the most handsome man she'd ever encountered. And therefore, she wanted him more than she had any man before him. For a lady of her station, Dorothy considered herself well versed in the arts and practices of love, or more accurately, lust. Truly, she believed in the latter more. The first was an illusion, something a girl told herself the man rutting between her legs felt for her in order to relieve her own guilt. Lust, however, was tangible. It was power, a power she'd wielded over no less than five men in her short eighteen years. Lust was easy to explain, and even easier to sate. She felt no guilt over it, either.   
  
Heero Yuy was a man built with the sole purpose of sating a woman's lust. How else could one explain his tall frame of lean muscles, his soul-piercing eyes, and that mouth that was so often set into a frown, perhaps to hide just how much pleasure it would be capable of creating. Some higher power had put him together just so, but Dorothy couldn't believe that it was the chaste god of his religion…anymore than she could believe that beautiful body and even more perfectly shaped hands were going to be wasted on a pale ninny like Relena Peacecraft.   
  
Even now as she thought about their engagement, which had only just been made public at the last Meeting, she wanted to scream. Not that she had any intention or desire to marry Heero. He might have been set to take over the village's doctoring needs, but he had no money to his name, no title, and therefore held no appeal as a husband. No, Dorothy only wanted Heero in once place, and that was warming her bed whenever she felt the urge. But these damn Puritans were so uptight about sex and marriage; even if she could sway Heero into breaking his vows, unspoken or official, the consequences if they happened to be caught were, quite literally, a matter of life and death. And after the fiasco with Otto, she no longer believed in having a perfectly discreet affair.   
  
She had no intention of having her neck stretched simply for a good roll in the hay.   
  
Although, she thought, as Relena appeared around a bend in the same road they were all taking into town, with her pregnant sister-in-law and silly little maid in tow, it might be worth the risk just to watch the ninny's heart break.   
  
"Tell me about Miss Peacecraft," Dorothy said suddenly, interrupting her young cousin in mid-sentence.   
  
Mariemaia blinked. "What is it you wish to know, Cousin?"  
  
"Don't be a child, Mariemaia," she snapped. "Tell me about her relationship with her betrothed."  
  
"Mister Yuy?" The girl pursed her lips, thinking hard. "I am hard pressed to remember a time when they did not fancy one another."  
  
Dorothy sighed. "That's not saying much. You're barely out of nappies."  
  
Mariemaia's chin wobbled slightly, but she continued, for no other reason than to regain her cousin's favor. The first few days of their friendship had been so pleasant. Exchanging secrets, Dorothy's stories about life in London…she wanted to get back that sisterly affection, the woman's touch she had long been missing in her life. "'Tis said that the Minister cares not for the match. 'Tis also said…" She lowered her voice. "…that a marriage between my father and Miss Peacecraft had been discussed."   
  
"What a wonderful match." She couldn't hold back her wicked smile. The very idea of perfect little Relena in an arranged marriage to her cousin who, although he was still a handsome man, was nearly twice her age…it was delicious. "Why did it not come about?"  
  
"Miss Peacecraft and Mister Yuy are in love," the child replied simply, as though there could not possibly be another explanation. "I think it frightfully romantic."   
  
Dorothy yawned behind her hand. "I think it frightfully dull, myself." Her cool eyes watched Relena. Heero had joined the trio of women on the very edge of the center of town, escorting them all. But Relena was the only one on his arm. "What on earth could he possibly find attractive about her?"  
  
"Do you like her not, Cousin?"  
  
"I have no care for women who are scared of their very shadows," she replied, sharply. "Relena Peacecraft has not the sense of a housefly, blindly following every rule set out for her. I pity Heero Yuy. It is a cold bed into which he is marrying himself."  
  
Mariemaia looked up at the older girl. "What mean you by that?"  
  
"Never you mind." Dorothy smiled to herself. "Yet."   
  
****  
  
It was all Hilde could do to keep her hands and feet still during the sermon. For fear that if she looked elsewhere she might seem guilty, she sat on the hard bench and stared at a spot just beyond Millardo's head as he spoke. He went on for what seemed like hours, but she could have summed it all up in one sentence.   
  
If you give in to the pleasures of the flesh, you will burn in everlasting Hell.   
  
The Meeting House was unbearably hot. Several times Hilde found herself pressing a handkerchief to her forehead, although Relena and Lucrezia shivered beside her. She supposed she must already have a toe into Hell.   
  
Her secret was eating her up inside, especially when she was anywhere near him. Duo. Hilde allowed herself one small glance over her shoulder. He was in the back of the House, like usual, standing with the other handful of indentured servants. His eyes were closed and as she watched, his head lolled forward. He was half-asleep.   
  
Strangely infuriated, Hilde turned back around. How could he not even be paying attention? He was just as guilty of the sins Millardo Peacecraft preached against; wasn't he worried about his own soul? Of course not. He wasn't the one who was being punished. And truthfully, she didn't want him to be punished. He already suffered so much for choices he was forced to make as a child. She would not add to his burdens.  
  
Her stomach lurched, and she prayed that the cold meal they'd eaten before the Meeting would stay down. Nothing much seemed to these days; it was becoming quite a chore to keep her daily bouts of sickness a secret. She had no idea how far into her shame she was, and every night she fell asleep with the worry that her stomach might turn round in the night. Even now that fear made her blood cold. Secrets like the one she carried did not keep well.   
  
But Hilde had no one to turn to, and her options, as best she could figure them, were severely limited. She and Duo could not marry. But if she had a child outside of marriage, the punishments both she and the babe would endure were too horrible to think about. There was little else to do, except pray for divine intervention. But even hoping that she would lose the baby was a sin. She had made her bed, even though it had really just been a soft blanket in the middle of the woods, and now she would have to lie in it. Alone.   
  
"Hilde, whatever is the matter?" Relena whispered in her ear.   
  
"I am fine," she replied just as quietly. "My apologies, missus."   
  
The blonde girl took Hilde's hand. "We shall talk later."   
  
"Later" turned out to be much later. The Meeting ended, and it fell upon Hilde to prepare the evening meal, as Heero came to dinner and Relena's attentions were certainly not on rabbit stew. As there was company, Hilde ate what little she could force down in the lean-to before she went inside the house to serve the family.   
  
Jealousy was another sin she could add to her pile, for she felt its horrible bite whenever she looked at the betrothed couple. They were so obviously happy, especially now that they had Millardo's grudging acceptance, at least enough for him to welcome Heero to his table. She wanted to see herself in her friend's place; she wanted to sit down to dinner with Duo, free and clear of sin. The thought made her hands tremble as she ladled stew into bowls. She excused herself as soon as she was done, and escaped upstairs.   
  
"Is something the matter with Hilde?" Lucrezia asked, breaking apart a freshly baked biscuit.   
  
Relena shook her head. "I could not say, sister."   
  
She felt a pang of guilt when she realized that the entire meal passed before she thought about Hilde again. It was just too much of a dream come true to share a meal with Heero with her brother's blessing. She couldn't eat much; she just wanted to watch him eat. It thrilled her to know that once they were married, she'd have this every day.   
  
He stayed awhile afterwards, waiting for her to clear the table, as Hilde had yet to come downstairs. When she was through with the chore, she came into the living area and found him sitting next to the fire, examining the contents of her sewing basket. One item in particular seemed to have captured his attention.   
  
"'Twill be sheets," Relena informed him.   
  
Heero looked over at her. "For our bed?"  
  
"Aye." Her cheeks felt warm and it wasn't the heat from the fireplace.   
  
He set the basket down and stood up. "I would ask for a kiss, if the good minister rested not in the other room."   
  
"I might grant thee one nonetheless."   
  
"Would you?"  
  
Relena closed her eyes as he came closer. His lips touched hers a second later, but it was an innocent kiss. When she opened them again, Heero was already starting for the door, collecting his cape, hat and gloves along the way. She moved into the doorway between the living area and the hall, leaning against the wood for support as she watched him don his winter apparel. "God go with thee," she said in a near whisper.   
  
He opened the door, and glanced back at her. "Good night."  
  
She let out a little sigh once he was gone. All it took was one look from him to leave her knees as unstable as a Christmas pudding.   
  
It was then that she remembered Hilde's strange behavior. Gathering her skirts in one hand, Relena started up the stairs. "Hilde?"   
  
Hilde heard her name being called, but couldn't bring herself to stir from the tight ball she'd tucked herself into under the quilts on the bed she and Relena shared. "Hilde?" She closed her eyes when Relena entered their room. The straw mattress sank a bit as her friend crawled onto it. "Are you feeling unwell, Hilde?"   
  
She couldn't bring herself to lie, so she simply shook her head. But Relena didn't fall for it. "Should I call Heero back to examine thee?"   
  
"Nay." Hilde turned a bit to see the other girl. Her friend was worried about her; her eyes gave her away. "Miss Relena, I have a terrible secret." Relena wasn't the type of person who would have pressed to hear it, which was why a second later, Hilde sat up and looked her master's sister straight in the eye. "I fear that…I am with child."   
  
Relena brought her hand up to her mouth. "Oh…Hilde."   
  
The girl's tears spilled over. "God punishes me, Miss Relena! For loving Duo too much, and letting my love lead me astray."   
  
"Hilde," she repeated. Taking a breath, Relena reached for her friend. "Tis true that love leads you where it will, but it cannot be that a babe is punishment for any sin."   
  
Hilde shook her head, her short, dark curls clinging to the moisture on her cheeks. "I shall burn in Hell."   
  
"And where shall Duo be whilst you roast in Hell?" There was a pause. "He knows not?"   
  
"Aye."   
  
"He cannot marry thee."   
  
"Aye."  
  
Relena thought for a second. "If the child be born without a marriage, twill be thee who will suffer for it." She frowned. Hilde would suffer, and suffer greatly. Fornication was amongst the most grievous of sins in the eyes of the village. Yet, there was little she could do to help her friend. Hilde couldn't just disappear; she had nowhere to go. Her family would rather see her dead than live with the shame of welcoming an unwed mother back into their house. If she stayed, the villagers would dole out their own punishments.   
  
"Tis hopeless, then." Sobbing, Hilde leaned into her, and Relena held her friend's trembling body tightly.  
  
It was then that Relena remembered something. "Hilde." She pulled away and looked into her wet, blue eyes. "A marriage cannot happen, and the babe cannot be born. There remains only one way."  
  
"What 'tis that, Miss Relena?"   
  
The blonde girl stood from the bed and paced for a few seconds. "First you must decide if you are willing to endure the punishments, that you might have Duo's child. And Hilde, if you are not, I shall not judge you now or ever. 'T'were I in your shoes, I cannot say that I could, either."   
  
Hilde's eyes darted about. She licked her lips and shook her head. "I could survive, Miss Relena, were Duo by my side, husband or not. But I shall not name him as the father, and put him through more than he already must endure. 'Tis my shame, not his."   
  
"I know of your love for him, Hilde, but are you certain that…"  
  
"Aye. Do not ask me again."   
  
Relena nodded, rather reluctantly. After another moment, she continued, "There 'tis a woman who lives deep in the wood. Like her mother, who was once a villager, she has the gift of herbal healing. I have heard tales of other women who have sought her aid when they cannot conceive…or wish to carry no more babes."  
  
Realization dawned, and Hilde's hands began to tremble. "Think you I should seek her out?"  
  
"'Tis your choice."   
  
"Duo shall marry me someday, Miss Relena. But it cannot be tomorrow, nor even in time for this child." She put her hand on her flat belly. "When that day comes, I shall have a hundred babes for him. But now…"   
  
Grasping her friend's hand, Relena nodded. "I shall go with thee. It cannot be tomorrow; we must prepare a grand supper for the Magistrate and his family." She almost made a face, but stopped herself in time. "We shall go before the Sabbath."  
  
"Miss Relena…" Hilde bowed her head. "I cannot thank thee enough."   
  
Relena left Hilde sleeping a few minutes later, and walked back down the stairs. The fire was still going strong; she sank into her chair in front of it. All of the calm she'd displayed in front of her friend dissipated, and Relena began to quietly cry.   
  
She feared the flames of Hell just as much as Hilde.   
  
****  
  
The onslaught of winter kept Trowa Barton from doing what he loved most in the world, working his fields and tending to his farm. With the harvest over and the ground frozen, there was little for him to do after the animals were fed and the firewood was chopped. He was not a man who liked to be idle, and his restlessness was slowly driving his sister to madness.   
  
She told him this over the morning meal, before she would even let him butter his biscuits. "You know that I cannot clean whilst you hang about, whittling."  
  
Trowa blinked. "I am sorry."  
  
"Perhaps you should go into the village," Catherine suggested. "Or better yet, pay a visit to our neighbor up the hill. 'Tis lonely, he must be, knowing nary a soul in the colonies."   
  
He bit into his dry biscuit. Their English neighbor up the hill had hardly been seen since he first arrived; he didn't seem like the type who would enjoy an unsolicited visit. But if only to humor his sister, Trowa nodded. "I shall then."  
  
"Take with you some of my preserves." She stood up from the table to prepare a basket. "Tell him…" She paused, a strange little smile on her face. "Tell him we wish to see him at supper some night."  
  
Because of his inability to say no to Catherine, Trowa found himself riding up the hill after breakfast with a basket of raspberry preserves and the remainder of their morning biscuits tied to his saddle.   
  
Quatre Winner's house was certainly grander than the little cottage his parents had left to him and his sister. The fields around it were covered in snow; he doubted that come spring they would be planted with anything other than grass. The blonde man who owned them had probably never handled anything but money in his entire life.   
  
Just as he was dismounting, the man in question appeared from around the corner of the house, carrying a bucket full of snow to be melted into drinking water. He stopped when he caught sight of Trowa.   
  
The snow was pure white, but somehow Quatre Winner seemed even cleaner. His hair could not be called yellow, yet it looked like what Trowa imagined gold to be. His clothes were simple, but stylish, and the body that wore them was neither delicate, nor brawny.   
  
Trowa landed on the ground and raised his hand. "Good morrow."  
  
"Same to you," Quatre echoed. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he started towards his guest. "To what do I owe the honor of your visit, neighbor?"  
  
"My sister wished that you have some of her preserves," he replied, untying the basket. "And she sends an invitation to sup at our home soon."  
  
Was it his imagination, or did the English man's expression fall just a bit. "I thank your sister, then. On both accounts." He set his bucket down on the snow-littered ground, and took the basket. "Will you join me? I have not broken my fast yet."   
  
Even though he was not hungry, Trowa nodded. "Aye."   
  
It comforted him to see that the house was not nearly so grand on the inside as it appeared to be from the road. The tables and chairs were all coarsely made, and it lacked the feminine touches that only a woman could provide, such as curtains and pots of flowers. It was the home of a bachelor, the sort he would find himself living in once Catherine found a man to marry. Because he had little interest in marriage for himself.   
  
"Make yourself comfortable," Quatre told him, gesturing to the table. "Would you like some tea?"  
  
"Aye." Trowa sat, and without realizing it, watched Quatre as he moved around the hearth. The snow melted over the fire within minutes; it was immediately poured into a pot to boil. The blonde man gathered china cups, no doubt brought over from England, and set out a bowl of brown sugar.   
  
"I am afraid I have no cream to offer you," he apologized.   
  
"It matters not."  
  
Quatre took the kettle off the fire. "You do not say much, do you?"   
  
Trowa lifted his shoulders. "I speak when there is need to speak."   
  
"You'd make a horrible courtier, then," he chuckled, continuing to fix their tea. "I was not much of one myself, I must admit. I had no interest in the affairs and scandals of the royal family. I spent as little time in London as possible, I assure you." He handed Trowa a cup.   
  
"Is that why you came here?"   
  
Quatre lifted the cork lid from one jar of preserves. "There were many reasons. That was merely one of them." Trowa nodded and sipped his tea. "When I discovered that my family owned this…this house, I decided it was time to leave England altogether and seek a life elsewhere."  
  
"And have you found it?"  
  
"A life?" He dipped his knife into the jam and spread it onto a biscuit. "I cannot say for sure yet. I will say, though, that if this is my life, it is certainly not for the weak at heart. Winters in England are never this harsh, and it's barely even begun, from what I hear."   
  
Trowa set down his cup. "I know you not well, but I do not believe you are weak at heart."   
  
There was something hanging in the air, and neither of them was willing to define it. So, it hung, thick, but intangible, choking their conversation. Finally, Quatre spoke. "Do you look down on me? For not attending your Meetings?"  
  
"'Tis no man's matter how another man worships, or even if he does at all. I am only a man, and it is not my place to judge."   
  
"I admire you for that." Quatre bit down on the inside of his cheek, drawing blood. "I admire you." A moment passed. "Forgive me. I only meant…"  
  
Trowa held up his hand. "I judge not…lest I be judged myself." He stood up suddenly. "Shall I tell my sister to expect you next week?"   
  
With the taste of blood heavy in his mouth, Quatre nodded. "Give her my thanks."   
  
He nodded, and started for the door. Halfway to it, Trowa turned back around. "I admire you, too."   
  
Once he was back outside, Trowa swung himself up onto his horse. He sat in the saddle for a long moment, staring down at his hands. When he looked up, he saw Quatre standing in the window of his house, watching him.   
  
Trowa tapped the horses' sides with his boots, and the animal lurched forward. He guided him into a trot, putting as much distance between the house and himself as he could.   
  
"God forgive me."  
  
****  
  
To Be Continued 


End file.
